Deadication
by Random Guise
Summary: Dex Cornell was an author and professor. He was also dead, but that didn't mean his last words couldn't be published. Based on the movie D.O.A. (1988) with Dennis Quaid. I don't own the now post mortis character, but I have read a book before. Rated because, well, he IS dead...


**A/N: A short added final scene to the movie D.O.A. (1988).**

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Deadication

"Heather, I got a copy!" the giggling college student said with obvious glee as she walked up to her friend.

"How? It doesn't go on sale until tomorrow. Mona, we were supposed to wait in line together you turd!"

"You call me a turd? Just for that I'm not going let you look at it" she said, turning her back pretending to be mad at her best friend.

"Oh come on, I didn't mean it and you know it" Mona pleaded. "But you have to tell me how you managed a copy of 'Out of Whack' before it went on sale."

Heather looked around conspiratorially. "It's a damaged copy that got messed up in shipping. They couldn't sell it, but I know a guy..."

"You know lots of guys."

"Yeah, but this one works in the book store. A special friend" she said with a wry smile.

"Okay, I don't want to know. Well, maybe I do but save it for later. Tell me the big secret; who wrote the introduction? Was it...him?"

"I don't know, I haven't opened it yet. I was waiting for us to find out together."

"Okay, you're back on my Christmas list again. Let's go over to that bench and find out." Gleefully, both hurried over to the nearby bench under a tree and sat. Mona took the book out of the bag and showed it to Heather.

Out of Whack  
by  
Nicholas Lang

The book's front jacket was plain with no drawings or embellishments, although it did have a tear that ran across one corner. The front hard cover was bent back and refused to close completely. Someone had handwritten "Do not sell" across the front in marker pen, but the rest of the book seemed intact and the binding even emitted a slight 'snap' sound as it was opened for the first time.

"Come on, flip to the dedication page" Heather implored as she tried to reach for the book.

Mona slapped her hand away. "It's my book so I'll turn the pages, thank you very much" she said as she pulled it away enough to be out of reach of her friend. She continued turning pages past the usual blank and title pages until she came to a page with the title "Deadication". She began to read out loud:

[Publisher's note: this was found next to the body of the author and professor Dexter Cornell after his interview at police headquarters. Considering his connection to the work it only seemed logical that it be included as part of the publication.]

 _Deadication_

 _There is a special relationship that exists between the reader and an author of a book. Add to this the author of the dedication and you create a literary_ ménage à trois _that exists nowhere else. Each one is unique and different for every reader and author._

 _Congratulations; you've managed to hook up with two dead guys._

 _Now before you get all weirded out, neither of us wanted to be dead. I could go into details, but if you're reading this you probably already know all about how Nick was tossed off a roof and I was fatally poisoned all for the sake of the content of this book, not to mention a few more people who lost their lives in the process. And I'll be the first to come out and admit it._

 _I never read his book._

 _I had the manuscript but never got the chance. I'm writing this in my last few moments because I know Nick; he had backup copies somewhere that will eventually be found and published. The kid was that good and reminded me of myself at his age when I wrote "Blanking Out"._

 _I can't speak of the book, and it would be pointless to laud the author any more than what the reviewers will be saying for some time to come. But I can use this opportunity to have one last say about writing that you can think of as my last lecture, if my remaining time permits. Someone recently said to me "It's a petty, prosaic little world" and if he reads this he'll know who he is. I'm sure he though [_ sic _] it was the truth._

 _Bullshit._

 _Most of the world we encounter may be that way, but that's because we choose to think of it that way and how we process it between our ears. I told my students about using color as a metaphor, and it works here; filter out all the colors that present themselves from really appreciating life and you're left with black. The dark, blanketing and suffocating devil of all writers that cause them to block, plagiarize or even doubt when they should trust in themselves. Closing your eyes doesn't change the color of the ocean, and failing to write doesn't change the fact that those words are waiting to be written._

 _Take my advice; don't get killed just to appreciate life. It sucks and you might not be able to bum a pen and paper like I have._

 _I must wrap this up quickly, as I know I'll be walking down that dark hallway towards the light any time now. If I must challenge writers to one more assignment it's this: don't wait, but take pen in hand and write now, damn it, now! I'm one of the few people who know how much time he has left, and editors can always work it out later. Make 'em earn their money._

 _Dex Cornell_

Mona read the name almost in a whisper. Of course the campus was full of stories of what had happened, both officially from the news sources and whispers from others who knew or thought they knew. Now she could read no more; her blurry eyes found nothing until she turned the page and found the beginning of the book. "I was going to take one of his classes next semester" she said quietly.

"I already have" Heather said softly.

"Do you want to write something with me now back at the apartment?"

"I don't know, I'm too sad right now. I don't think it would be any good while I'm feeling depressed."

"Yeah," Mona admonished "but isn't that the point he was trying to make?"

Heather thought it over and shook her head. "No. I don't know. Maybe. Probably. Okay, but I don't think it will be worth reading."

"If it isn't then it will just be for self-therapy. Let's go." The two arose and somberly walked across the campus. Their pace picked up noticeably the closer they got to their apartment as their imaginations started to work.

The End

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 **A/N: I watched this movie again after finally watching the original (1949) and I wanted to give Dennis Quaid's character a final say in the film. I also now see the final scene under the credits in a "different light" and interpret it on a completely new level than when I first watched it decades ago.**


End file.
